


Duck, Duck, Goose!

by Amethyst97Skye



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alcohol, Banter, Bets & Wagers, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Fluff without Plot, Friendship, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Implied Relationships, Lies, Love, M/M, Reader-Insert, Secrets, Sexual Fantasy, Varric Tethras' Nicknames
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-12-03 01:05:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11521320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amethyst97Skye/pseuds/Amethyst97Skye
Summary: Life is not all it is chalked up to be as the Inquisitor, but you make it work. After the events surrounding Haven, you are looking to unwind a little, and it seems Varric agrees.Originally called: 'Secrets and Lies Disguised'.





	Duck, Duck, Goose!

**Author's Note:**

> Remember to drink responsibly. No Maraas-Lok for you this time, Inquisitor.

The _Herald’s Rest_ was always busy and today was no exception. Everyone seemed to be gathered around the table Varric, one of the first – second only to The Iron Bull and his Chargers – had claimed upon the tavern’s construction. You meandered over, hoping to hear the end of another fantastically exaggerated tale. Alas, the Dwarf was not telling tales but taking bets for another one of his pools. As you edged closer, catching whippets of conversation about “kisses”, “candlelit dinners” and “doing the dirty”, you scuttled through the thronging crowd until you could breathe and mount the stairs.

Reigning high above the commotion on the first-floor landing, you had a perfect view of the large sheaf of parchment spread out before the Dwarf. It was decorated with dozens of names and various accomplishments, all of which were arranged in a prestigiously precise table. Above sat the bold black title _The Inquisitor’s Love Life_ , the words glaring up at you like Veil Fire in the depths of the Fallow Mire.

You skimmed the rows, catching sight of “Blackwall”, “Cullen”, and “Dorian” along with “King Alistair”, “The Iron Bull”, “Delrin Barris”, and it seemed Solas’ name was bringing up the rear with Varric himself. There were much more that rung minuscule bells in your brain, and even more that struck you as completely foreign. The column headings listed increasingly outrageous conditions from “First Kiss” and “Marriage Proposal” to “Popping Cherries” and “Orlesian Tickler”, whatever _that_ was. Knowing Varric, you suspected there was a far darker and larger table riddled with strange names and even stranger tasks.

There was one thing, however, that struck you as rather odd: not a single woman had been mentioned.

Your fantasies rose, fell and flowed with your mindset, changing according to the tides, your emotions, and the demands that rained down from the sky. You liked making your Commander blush, you liked listening to The Iron Bull growl, and Dorian had the uncanny ability to make you smile and scowl at the same time. Your jaw often ached at the end of every conversation, but you had never truly considered if you would prefer a different kind of ache.

To exclude the women, however, was nothing short of criminal.

You knew Cassandra’s weaknesses, and you had the fortunate misfortune to catch her relaxing in an Orlesian milk bath decorated with rose petals. Josephine was simply too adorable _not_ to make the cut, and Leliana… She scared you, but, sometimes, that was a good thing. Just thinking about her sent chills down your spine.

“Hey, Goose! I can hear you frowning from down here!”

“Well, hello to you too, Varric,” you waved, smirking despite yourself, duly noting the far sparser crowd. You had been musing for a while, it seemed. “Having fun, are we?”

“If I said ‘yes’, what would my punishment be?” he asked, smiling all too sweetly.

“Umm… How does a rotation in the Hissing Wastes sound? No, no, I’ve got it! Two weeks on the Storm Coast with our favourite Seeker.”

“Such cruel torture! You wound me, Inquisitor,” Varric lamented, hand over his heart as he feigned a punch to the face, grinning all the while. “If I brought you a drink, would you be willing to forget my… unprofessionalism?”

“It can’t hurt your chances,” you replied, bouncing down the stairs on the balls of your feet.

Varric wasted no time ordering a fancy glass of your favourite – you should _not_ be surprised he knew – but that stuff was _expensive_. Not even Dorian or Vivienne ordered it.

You would pay your friend back… somehow. _With_ interest.

“I see you’ve been busy,” you grinned, gesturing at the roll of parchment currently curled up like a Mabari before the legendary storyteller.

“Ah, new rumours,” he winked. “I’ve got to keep up to date with demands. Speaking of such, how are you holding up?”

You could not see the bridge connecting the topics, but there was always someone worrying about you. Cassandra fused over your armour, Dorian your health, Josephine your diet, Cullen your training, Vivienne your etiquette, Solas your Mark, Leliana your enemies, Bull your allies…

It was never ending.

“Much better now I’ve got some company,” you declared, toasting to your friend, opting to go with the flow for now. “Everyone seems to have… disappeared. Like Cole. And if I _do_ find them, they’re in a place I’d never think to look! This morning, for example, I saw Cullen in the Mage’s Library, and I’m certain I saw Dorian lurking by the stables.”

“Did you now?”

Varric’s voice did not lean one way or another, and from what little you had picked up from The Iron Bull and Leliana that meant he was hiding something. Most likely he was in on whatever prank Sera had played on Dorian – she only ever really listened to you and Blackwall, and it appeared the pampered prince did not want to trouble you – and there was a chance that Varric had advised Cullen on how to deal with his… addiction.

People did not consider you stupid. Reckless, undoubtedly, but not stupid. You knew the signs. He had covered up the tells remarkably well, but his hands were trembling more often than not, he snapped out when his head threatened to explode - his headaches were getting increasingly frequent - and when he looked dead on his feet Cullen rarely ventured out of his tower.

The Inquisition did not have an expert on Lyrium, per say, but if there was such a title you would have given it to Varric in a heartbeat, and you were quite certain the Commander would have crossed paths with Varric at some point in Kirkwall. There was, in your opinion, no one better to turn to for advice. Cassandra, of course, knew about his situation. You had seen her cast aside her books to ferry food across the battlements more times than you could count.

_Another meeting, Seeker._

_I – Yes, Inquisitor._

_Should I be concerned?_

_No, Inquisitor. I will inform the Ambassador should the situation… change._

Pulling rank did nothing. She was lying through her teeth, lying to your face, but you admired her loyalty, even if it did make you feel like an unworthy fool. After Haven, you thought the Circle would have grown closer, not broken apart. It was early days yet, and Skyhold was still on the mend, but with the Breach sealed, and after everything you had done to protect them, to _save_ them, it had not felt so foolish to think that they might trust you, respect you even.

But such dark thoughts had no place in the tavern. You would never return otherwise, and then Krem would start asking questions.

Nothing good could come of that.

You took another sip of your drink, trying not to think, the steady burn only a mild discomfort now. Usually, it took more than a glass to achieve that, but you were not complaining, though it _was_ almost empty. Setting down the crystal goblet, intent on charming a refill from your friend, you noticed one of his many scrolls were missing.

Rather, you realised that the large sheet of parchment had been replaced by several smaller ones. It made you smile, and when Varric returned the gesture you laughed.

“You know, I did a little spying way up yonder,” you said, pointing up at your earlier perch, “and I can’t help but voice my… disappointment.”

“Disappointed? Ah, Goose, it’s only a bit of fun.”

You were _not_ a Goose, no matter how often Varric claimed the name suited you. The world was falling apart, but you could take five minutes to prove that you, the Goose, could have a little fun.

“Oh, I know, and I don’t mind. Really,” you insisted when Varric raised a brow. “But, honestly, I’d thought you’d have caught on by now.”

His easy, confident smile was back. “Well, let’s pretend I haven’t. Care to share what I’ve missed?”

“There aren’t any women on your list,” you said matter-of-factly.

Varric blinked, and you could be imagining it but he seemed a shade or two paler. It took all your will to subdue the urge to grin, hiding your victory behind a mask of sincere dissatisfaction, watching the gears turning over in his head with child-like glee.

“Ah, well,” you sighed, finishing off your glass and dug three silver from your coin purse, tossing them onto the table with a little less grace than you should have.

One rolled along the wood, veered sideways, and chinked against the base of an astronomically overpriced bottle. A third of it had already been drunk.

You would pay Varric back.

_With_ interest.

“Looks like I don’t have to reveal my secrets to Skyhold _juuust_ yet,” you smiled. “Have a good evening, Varric. I know _I_ will!”

Only when you reached the door did you turn back, and you celebrated catching the Dwarf red-handed all the way back to the castle proper, purposefully taking the scenic route to enjoy the good weather. Somehow, you knew _exactly_ what he was scribbling in that little black book of his.


End file.
